AFC Half Marathon

San Diego truly is a lovely city. But, does it really deserve the moniker “America’s Finest City”? The organizers of the half marathon this past weekend seem to think so and use that slogan as the race’s namesake. Regardless of whether you agree with this bold appraisal of San Diego, this race was one of the finest I have participated in.

The course is challenging and scenic. Many of San Diego’s most popular tourist spots are featured. The race starts at Cabrillo monument and meanders through Point Loma. We then traversed Harbor Island, passed the airport, wandered through downtown and finished in Balboa Park.

Let’s talk about the finish in Balboa Park. It is home to the famous San Diego zoo, museums, and gardens. Here’s the catch. It is well above downtown; to get to the park one must go UPHILL to get there. So, at mile 11 of this primarily downhill and flat course, the road turns upward and stays that way for 2 miles. How inconvenient, one might even say inconsiderate! Even though I studied the course profile and am familiar with the streets of San Diego, the last 2 miles of the race were still a shock to the system.

 My race strategy was calculated in anticipation of this rude placement of such a steep incline. I had to run the first 10k fast and bank some time to make up for whatever I would lose on the uphill. This type of racing is counter to my usual “go out controlled” race plan.

I reached the 10k mark in 36:12 which is the fastest 10k I have run in as long as I can remember and I hit the 10 mile mark in 59:05. At mile 11, I was 65:05 and was thinking a sub 78 was possible. And then I hit the hill. I felt incredibly strong and ran it well, but, all I could manage was 6:30 pace for the next 2 miles (I felt better when I heard that the lead men went from 5:05 pace to 5:50 pace on that section). I did cross the line with a 35 second PR (78:26), which means this year I have shaved 60 seconds off of my half marathon time.

I was quite distressed, though, when I was running down the finish chute and I heard the announcer say “Here comes Joanna Zeiger. I recognize that form anywhere!” I know that this does not mean I looked smooth and gazelle-like, but rather, I looked like my regular spastic self. This is quite disheartening considering I have worked very hard on my run form with the hopes of eventually blending in.

I was lucky to receive an elite entry for this race. This afforded me two huge benefits. The course is point to point and all racers are required to take a bus from the finish to the start. Lining up with 8000 people can be chaotic, so I was incredibly relieved to find out that there was a bus for the elites leaving from the host hotel, which is closer to the start line. Yes!

That little perk was nothing compared to the private staging area with 3 porta-potties. That meant short lines and clean bathrooms that never ran out of toilet paper. After my experience at the Boulder 70.3 aid station, I will never take a clean porta-potty for granted. That particular porta-potty met with an unfortunate circumstance that to this day I cannot figure out how it happened. In fact, much discussion ensued amongst the volunteers, all of whom went to investigate, about how this occurred. Evidently, somebody had a very upset stomach and had terrible aim and ruined the porta-potty for the rest of the day. The point being, I really appreciated the presence of unsullied bathrooms, especially since we were at the start a full hour before the race began.

I have run 4 half marathons this year, 3 of them in San Diego. When it comes to racing, San Diego is America’s Finest City!

Bolder Boulder

Photo from the Daily Camera: This is the wave I started in

In the eight years I have lived in Boulder, I have avoided the annual spectacle that is the Bolder Boulder 10K. Various reasons have kept me away from the start line. Conflicting races. Injuries. Apathy. But, mostly, I have stayed away from this legendary race because of the enormity of the number of racers.

This year, I decided that I had run out of excuses. I signed up for the race. In doing so, I embraced all that the Bolder Boulder weekend had to offer. Mark and I went to the Boulder Creek festival on Saturday and the race expo on Pearl Street on Sunday. Adding race day on Monday, I had three very full days of crowd control.

The happy group race morning: Mark, JZ, Krista, Lara, Billy

My race was over right from the start. I had trouble breathing almost immediately. When I reached the 2k banner, I was contemplating just running home since it was much closer than the finish line. I forged on though, mostly because Mark was running as well and we had planned to meet at the finish area. I backed off the pace in hopes of feeling better. Just after the 4 mile marker, I was stooped over on the side of the road wheezing like a pack a day smoker who just climbed a flight of stairs. After about 10 minutes, I stepped back onto the course and finished the race.

Fortunately, my asthma has been under fairly good control lately, so this episode was unexpected. Despite all of the years of experience with asthma, and despite all of the counseling I have given to other athletes with asthma, I was still incredibly disappointed that this happened. Later in the day, I commiserated with a fellow asthma sufferer who dropped out of the race at the very spot I stood on the side of the road. It turns out that misery truly loves company.

When I was discussing the race with Mark, I was lamenting about my frustration. He asked if I would have been happier if I had just run poorly and turned in a bad time. I replied, “of course, not,” to which he responded, “There is no such thing as a “good” bad day.” His words, which made me chuckle, are so true. I never jump for joy over a bad race, no matter the circumstances.

Despite the less than awesome outcome of this race, I had the opportunity to make some interesting observations.

Triathletes really stand out in running races. Runners pin their race number onto their shirt. Triathletes use a number belt. Runners either wear a full hat or no hat. Triathletes use a visor.  Finally, runners wear their Boston marathon gear. Triathletes sport their Ironman gear. The wearing of the race shirt during the race seems to be a universal faux pas. Compression socks have made the jump from obscure triathlon fad to being respected apparel during run races. Today, I pinned my number on my top, but I wore a visor; apparently I am still a triathlete at heart.

Just in case you men out there were wondering, us ladies are well aware when our “headlights” are showing. No, we do not like it; it just happens to be a side effect of racing in scanty clothing. I have been caught on numerous occasions in photographs with this embarrassing affliction. I have tried different sports bras to no avail. I was grousing about this to my friend Kim recently when an indecent photo surfaced after a recent race. She owns a specialty bra shop called Boulder Fields (I liked the name The Knocker Locker, but she thought it was too crass). She recommended a product called DIMRS (you know, “dimmers”; such a cute name), a silicon protector which smoothes things out in the chest area. They worked fantastically and will now become a part of my race kit.

Racing at altitude is hard. I can’t wait to head to sea level this week to tackle the Rock ‘n Roll San Diego half marathon.

Temecula Turkey Trot

Turkey trots are contested in cities and towns all over the country Thanksgiving weekend. For some reason, people imagine that running a 5k or 10k negates the overindulgence of the Thanksgiving meal; that running in a race somehow wipes the calorie slate clean and the meal is a free for all.